


An Unexpected Customer

by PL1



Category: Good Omens (TV), The Borrowers - All Media Types
Genre: Borrower OC, Fluff, GT, Gen, Post Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-08-10 02:44:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20128075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PL1/pseuds/PL1
Summary: Most visitors to A.Z. Fell's bookshop in Soho would say they have some trouble in the store - they can't find the owner or the book they would like, or the place doesn't take cards. For a borrower taking up residence in the cozy shop, the problems that can arise are entirely different. Oscar isn't prepared for his encounter with the very humanlike owner of the shop.Then again, Aziraphale isn't prepared for his encounter with this miniature visitor, either.





	1. Rather a Bad Start

**Author's Note:**

> Oscar the OC meets yet another fandom! After watching the TV Series of Good Omens, I just had to see how my little borrower would fare with the Good Omens universe. This takes place after the end of the series, but I don't anticipate spoilers. I will mark chapters if they contain anything spoilery.

As far as Thursdays went, it was one of the good ones. Breakfast at the cafe had been excellent (they always made their toast to perfection, or as close to it as they could), and then had come errands. While he didn’t begrudge any humans their attitude on errands, Aziraphale enjoyed a chance to wander with a goal in mind. He needn’t get in anyone’s way, and they didn’t get in his way either.

The bank had come first, then the shop for some kitchen things that he liked to have around. These were merely holdovers before the big meeting of the morning: Aziraphale had scheduled a meeting with a fellow rare book collector.

Three first editions, one of them _signed,_ would be finding their new home in his beloved Soho bookshop, and just in time for a celebratory lunch.

The meeting was brief, which was just another ray of light on a nice day. Turned out the other collector was busy, too busy for tea and dreadfully sorry about it. Something had come up. If Aziraphale didn’t know any better, he might think he’d pulled the strings himself to make that happen.

Returning to the bookshop with three new books tucked carefully under an arm, he sighed in weary relief. The clutter, the dust, even the muted lighting felt like home. Far more than where he came from, the bookshop offered a cozy atmosphere. Even on the dreaded “busy” days, customers were usually quiet and polite. Sometimes they browsed and didn’t even try to buy anything.

He took his time wandering towards the back room of the shop, navigating around shelves and display tables, when he noticed something that drew a very put-upon sigh from him. By the register that hadn’t been updated in decades, he’d left a small plate out on the counter. 

The biscuits that once piled on it were gone now, save for a few crumbs, but he regretted it all the same; he did _not_ want to encourage mice to take up residence in the shop. Sure, he could miracle away any chewed corners or destroyed notes, but he’d always _know_ what had happened.

He changed his course to wander past the counter so he could collect the little plate. Chances were he’d forget about it again if he went to lunch first. Those new books demanded he at least skim them to make sure they were in proper condition, and he didn’t have time for wayward dishes.

Aziraphale squinted accusingly at the counter when he reached it. He couldn’t say much about his tidiness, with the shop all around him standing as evidence, but what he’d noticed couldn’t be right. Crumbs littered the plate, and they also made a trail right off of it. He couldn’t see himself making _that_ much of a mess, not around the _books._

The crumbs left a trail that ducked behind the register, continuing until they stopped abruptly at the other side. Aziraphale huffed a frustrated sigh and gingerly set his books down (after ensuring there were no crumbs beneath them).

No sooner had he resolved to seek out the culprit than he spotted movement at the very edge of his vision. “Oh, abso_lutely_ not!” he muttered as he stepped briskly past a display table towards a pair of high shelves that formed a secluded corner of the shop.

A tiny shape dashed along the base of the shelf as if all the forces of heaven were at its heels. Not quite that much, perhaps, but Aziraphale was prepared to defend his shop nonetheless.

The notion that maybe he was overreacting did cross his mind, but not for long. Mice might be generally harmless in principle, but not to his books. He’d kept them in excellent condition since he acquired them, some of them centuries ago.

The little thief was nearing the corner between the shelves as he approached. That was when Aziraphale noticed the damaged wood at the base of one of them. Years ago, possibly decades, it had chipped away. It wasn’t much of an opening at all, but to him it may as well have been a bright sign welcoming in all kinds of vermin and things.

He huffed again, this time much more of an annoyed scoff, and paused his brisk walk. With an imperiously annoyed flick of his wrist, he snapped his fingers. Mending the bookshelf was easy and didn’t feel like cheating the way it would with his books.

As the sudden loss of its exit thwarted the little creature, Aziraphale resumed his approach to fetch it.

He knelt down as soon as the little thing fell into his shadow. One hand left his side in preparation to hastily gather the little mouse up and put it outside (no way in heaven or earth did he have it in him to _kill_ it). But he stopped.

“Oh. Oh dear,” he murmured to himself.

That was _not_ a mouse.

~~~

Oscar scurried like the mice he often tried to emulate. In the way they would sneak and only take what they needed, and of course in the way they would scurry. He was light of foot and he dashed as quickly as he could along the base of the shelf, thick tomes rushing by overhead, but still his heart beat frantically. His thin cloth bag bounced at his side, laden with his meager supplies and the handful of crumbs he’d gathered from the plate.

He hadn’t meant to be _seen._ It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. The owner of the shop always seemed so focused on _everything else_ that when he’d left out a plate of biscuits, well, Oscar had been sure he’d be able to take one without trouble.

Now he only knew regret. Even if he escaped this time, he would have to find a new shop to take up residence in its walls.

The base of the next shelf had a chip in the wood near the bottom. It formed a corner with the one he ran alongside now, and a good view of the cozy room all around. That broken chip was his goal. As far as exits went, it wasn’t the very best he had, but it was the closest. He needed to get out of the would-be giant’s sight before it was too late.

There was an annoyed huff somewhere behind and above him. Oscar didn’t understand, but it sent a chill through his heart anyway. The only thing worse than a human was an _angry_ one.

Then there was a snap of giant fingers, and the sound almost had a physical weight. Oscar didn’t have time to contemplate it, because he reached the corner of the two bookshelves and--

His entrance to the walls was nowhere to be found.

“Oh no,” he muttered to himself, running his hands over the wood. It was old and smoothed by the passage of time, but no longer showed any damage at all. The broken piece was miraculously back in place, right before his very eyes. He was _positive_ it hadn’t been like that earlier in the day.

As his hands groped frantically over the surface as if he might will it to open up again, Oscar’s breathing quickened to the point that very little actually seemed to reach his lungs. Tears sprang to his eyes and he shook his head. “No, no, no…”

He would be caught. He’d been careless, and he’d trapped himself in a corner, and he was going to be _caught._

The floor shook with tremors he knew all too well. The shop owner continued stalking forward, each step another rumbling promise of Oscar’s fate. He could end up in a cage, or tossed out onto the street where a cat or bird might find him. He could be shipped off to humans that might study him.

He could end up under one of those approaching steps.

His vision blurred just as a shadow slid over him and the looming presence of a giant trapped him in that corner. He’d never dash out of range now, not without a huge hand or foot stopping him as assuredly as a brick wall.

He whirled around and drew in a rattling gasp that choked a yelp of fear. A hand extended towards him, the palm bigger than his fearfully hunched body. Fingers longer than he was tall curled slightly, claws ready to snare around him and squeeze until he couldn’t move.

He paid no mind to the hand even after it stopped rushing at him and hovered there. He met the shop owner’s gaze for only a second before his eyes closed and the tears sprang from his eyes at last. That surprise, that realization that he was more than the man thought he was, was no better than anger. Oscar sank to a seat and covered his head with his arms as he sobbed.

“Oh. Oh, dear.” The murmur overhead could have overpowered his own voice, if only he’d had anything to say. Oscar had nothing. He couldn’t even summon the most pitiful pleas for his life.

The man’s next sigh was much gentler than the scoffs from before. Oscar didn’t allow himself to hope yet. He could still end up in trouble.

He felt the slight heat from the man’s hand, sensed its shadow surrounding him, before he understood. As he looked up, the hand was all around him. He flinched despite it being far too late to escape, and shot a pleading look past it to the man’s face. All that met his gaze was a somewhat flustered expression lit from behind by the shop’s high, rounded skylight.

Then something nudged at his back and he found himself gathered gently against a giant palm. Though he tried to flail free, soon he was caught up in a fist. “No …” he pleaded at last, only after his stomach dropped out as he rose into the air.

He squirmed and pushed against the man’s palm, but it meant nothing to his captor. The human didn’t squeeze him enough to hurt. There was only enough pressure all around him to keep him from falling as the man stood with him in tow and turned away from the corner.

Oscar tried to glean where he was going by eyeing the gaps between the man’s fingers, but couldn’t twist himself around enough to see for more than a few seconds at a time. Bookshelves flashed by mostly, broken up by the occasional glimpse of a shop window.

A sob shuddered through his body and Oscar’s eyes blurred again. He couldn’t stop the tears any more than he could stop the man that had captured him. Whatever awaited him was out of his control, and that filled him with terror.

At length, the man’s gait slowed and the hand dropped ominously. The fingers unfurled around him, and Oscar flinched. For a heart stopping moment, a sudden sense of gravity jolted through him and he flailed his arms at the nearby thumb, anything to keep from _falling._

And then he hit the table and collapsed. He couldn’t have fallen more than his own tiny height when the bookshop owner released him.  
Despite the soft landing, Oscar knew better than to think he was out of trouble. He scrambled to a seat and pushed himself back an inch or two, propped up on his hands and staring at the giant standing over him. Some papers covered the surface under him, and somewhere to the side a few books were stacked haphazardly. Behind, the drawers and shelves of the roll top desk loomed and hemmed him in.

The man’s brow pinched and he seemed unsure of what to do with his hands, both of them twitching at his sides before clasping in front of himself. He didn’t sit at the desk; that escaped him too.

Finally, in that quiet, polite tone Oscar had heard from the man many times over, he spoke. “Dear fellow, it … it seems we’re off to rather a bad start.”


	2. Miracle Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a bumpy start, Aziraphale and Oscar manage to have a real conversation with some surprises for both of them.

Aziraphale swallowed thickly, his hand frozen in mid-reach for the tiny creature. He hadn’t the slightest clue what to do next about this discovery. He couldn’t recall hearing much about tiny _people_, and he’d lived on earth … well, almost as long as it had been there. And yet, here he was, staring at a miniature man no bigger than a finger. Judging by the tiniest hitch in those frail little shoulders, the tiny man was crying with terror at the sight of him.

Who could blame him? Aziraphale tried to keep out of everyone’s notice, but he would be impossible to miss for someone so small.

He sighed, all the annoyance from before going out of him. Grabbing the little fellow and tossing him outside wouldn’t be the right thing to do at all. 

Resisting an uncomfortable shudder, Aziraphale closed the small distance to the tiny man. Regardless of all his misgivings, he didn’t want to navigate this crisis knelt on the floor. He could find his answers without feeling so … giant.

The little fellow flinched and looked up before Aziraphale had even touched him. The tiny look of fear nearly cast doubt in his mind. He grimaced and pushed forward, drawing the little guy into his hand as gently as he could. Hopefully, after some explanation, the little one would understand.

Of course, the tiny man struggled against his palm, only highlighting his frailty. He might as well not weigh a thing.

All creatures Great and Small indeed. Aziraphale truly wished he’d known much sooner about people the size of _mice._ This coming as such a surprise on an otherwise normal, routine Thursday didn’t seem fair.

As he straightened, the tiny man struggling in his hand, he had no clue what to do next. Looking around him, he surveyed the cluttered, cozy shop, before wandering back to the register counter. The trail of crumbs there told an entirely different story now. The little person trapped in his hand was rather thin, even for his miniature proportions.

Aziraphale ended up at the desk he kept at the back of the shop, out of the way for going through his newest arrivals. This counted, by his reckoning. He lowered his hand to the cluttered surface and opened it at last, only to regret it a moment later. The little fellow flinched and tumbled inelegantly to the desk.

Finding what to say was the next monumental task. Aziraphale’s hands twitched at his sides, and then he clasped them in front of the worn buttons of his waistcoat. He didn’t even think of sitting in the chair, as inviting as it was with its extra cushion leaned against the back and all. He couldn’t help thinking of his first assumption, that the little fellow was a mouse, there to chew on the books and make a mess of things.

Now he’d gotten a proper look at him, he didn’t seem like the type to chew on the books. He certainly didn’t look at all prepared to try to buy one either. In fact, the little fellow mostly seemed frightened, as if he wished to be anywhere in the world other than the bookshop.

Despite his usual protectiveness over his cherished volumes, that last bit did not sit well with Aziraphale at all.

“Dear fellow, it … it seems we’re off to rather a bad start.”

To the small man’s credit, he did seem to pause and consider the words, though the shaking in every limb didn’t wear off. That tiny face, angled up at Aziraphale in fear, changed slowly to mix with new confusion. The wee chest, rising and falling much faster than it should, hitched as the little man swallowed thickly. “Wh-what?”

He was so quiet, the human bookseller that Aziraphale tried so hard to pretend he was might not hear. As it was, he noted the stammer and breathlessness with ease. He’d frightened the little fellow quite badly.

“A bad start,” he repeated, though he guessed the little fellow hadn’t _misheard_ him. “You see, I thought you were a _mouse,_ when I saw you, and mice can be very bad for the books. So I may have been a touch harsh, over in the corner.”

A daze seemed to have fallen over the miniature man. He stared up at Aziraphale with his mouth slightly open and no sound coming out. Drawing his knees closer to his tiny chest, he fidgeted with his own little hands in an unwitting mirror of Aziraphale. 

Finally, after a long, stunned silence, the tiny man spoke again. “I-I, um. I’m sorry, sir. I w-was just. I mean. I took some food,” Aziraphale finally noticed the little cloth bag slung over the little fellow’s shoulder, “but I can give it back! I-I’ll put it back and never bother you again, I swear, I thought it was a cozy place to live without very many, um, humans in it, but I can find somewhere _else_ so your books are okay, but please don’t lock me up!”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows climbed his forehead, and he couldn’t quite decide what surprised him the most. The apparent squatter in his bookshop had given him perhaps more information than he meant to, and most of it caught him off guard.

For one, he had come to the bookshop because there weren’t often _humans,_ which ruled out the idea that this was an extreme case of dwarfism. For another, he was awfully afraid of the idea that Aziraphale might lock him up. As if it were a _given_. The tiny mouse-sized person certainly wouldn’t be able to stop a real human from trapping him, let alone an introverted principality.

What stood out the most, though, was the fact that this small man had needed to wait until no one was around to try to take some food. Discarded food, by most appearances. While it didn’t paint a full picture of his situation, Aziraphale could fill in the gaps well enough.

“I don’t think returning any food will be necessary, dear boy,” he said, as evenly and gently as he could. It wasn’t lost on him that he must seem so _loud_ to those tiny ears.

The tiny man paused for a breath. “Y-you don’t?”

Aziraphale tried to offer a smile, but it only lasted a moment before the uncomfortable concern returned. He finally took the chance to pull out his chair and sink politely into it. Thankfully, the action didn’t scare the little fellow any worse--at most, the little legs drew slightly closer to his chest.

It was marginally better. The little fellow was so _small_. Even seated, Aziraphale found himself looming quite a bit.

“I don’t,” he echoed. “It’s not as though I have much use for the crumbs myself, after all, and I did take the lion’s share of those biscuits already. And, forgive me for noticing, but it rather seems like you need all you can get.”

A faint shade of pink appeared on the little man’s cheeks. “Oh I, um. Y-yes. I-I try to only take … just what I need and what won’t be missed.”

“Of course, Mr … ?” Aziraphale prompted, glad for the small progress he’d made.

“Oh! I’m Oscar. _Just_ Oscar. I don’t have … more names.”

Aziraphale smiled and this time it lasted for more than an instant. Little Oscar really was quite removed from human rules, despite needing to live among them to get by. It was something they had in common, really, not that Oscar knew anything about that yet. “Charmed, Oscar. I am Aziraphale. I don’t have more names either, not really.”

~~~

Oscar’s brow furrowed. He could have sworn this man’s name was Fell. The name was on a sign somewhere in the shop. As he pondered, he saw an almost expectant look on Aziraphale’s face. “I-I’m sorry. What? I thought all humans … don’t you all have last names?”

Aziraphale smiled, and somehow the expression brought calm with it in the same way a warm breeze brings the smell of the outdoors. “Ah, well, you’re mostly right,” he dithered. “Many humans, perhaps even most of them, _do_ have surnames. But since I’ve rather rudely figured out your secret, Oscar, it seems only fair that you can learn mine.”

A faint sense of realization crept up Oscar’s spine and he straightened, but a part of him resisted the idea. Aziraphale looked very human indeed, though he wasn’t quite as frightening to talk to as Oscar had always imagined a human would be.

He certainly wasn’t a _borrower._

“Um. Mr. Aziraphale … you’re not, um. You aren’t human?”

“No need to call me Mr., dear boy. And no, not strictly speaking, though I can’t say as I blame you for thinking so.”

With the information out in the open, Oscar didn’t know what to do with it now. His brow pinched with a mix of confusion and worry. If Aziraphale wasn’t human, what _was_ he? So far he at least didn’t seem to be _worse_ than one, based on everything he’d done. So far, Oscar hadn’t even been hurt. With the back of the desk behind him and a giant in front, Oscar was _trapped,_ but that didn’t seem to be malicious in any way.

His worry must have shown on his face. Aziraphale’s face fell and he looked away for a moment, contemplating one of the many other cluttered, book-flooded surfaces in the back area of the bookshop. One of his hands moved in a vague gesture towards the shelves forming a rough doorway that led to the back room, where Oscar remembered a computer and a counter for making tea could be found.

Then, when Aziraphale glanced back at him, there was a teacup in his hand as if it had always been there. Oscar blinked at it, derailed from his swirling thoughts, as a light steam rose from the cup.

“Bit late for elevenses, I’m afraid, but perhaps this will help?” Aziraphale offered, lowering the teacup to a place on the desk several inches away that was miraculously clear of any books or papers.

Oscar lightly covered his mouth with the fingers of one hand while he uncurled slightly from his defensive hunch. Though his gaze warily followed Aziraphale’s hand until it had left the teacup behind, his curiosity aimed entirely at the drink. The drink that came out of nowhere.

After another awkward silence that Oscar couldn’t help but to draw out, he huffed out a short sigh. A lot of things had gone wrong with his day already. He didn’t need to sabotage this as well with his confusion.

His shaky hands found their way to the flap of his small cloth bag. “Um. Th-thank you, sir--Aziraphale, I mean,” he said, blindly pushing aside the crumbs he’d found earlier. He tried to smile through his nerves. He wasn’t sure how well that worked. “I’ve never had warm tea before, but I can, well, I’ll find my cup …” He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks as he searched.

“_Right,_” Aziraphale sighed with an energy of realization. Oscar flinched and looked up at him almost guiltily. “So sorry, Oscar. That wasn’t very considerate of me.”

Something unfamiliar touched Oscar’s hand at the bottom of his bag and he drew it out hastily. Instead of a bug caught in the act of sneaking under his supplies, he held a teacup. A miniature one, a perfect recreation of the one on the desk with him. “Oh,” he breathed quietly.

“Just a small miracle, really,” Aziraphale explained gently in a tone that suggested he thought that cleared everything up. “You’re welcome to keep it.”

More and more, Oscar wondered if he’d passed out in the bookshop owner’s grasp. A giant being kind and apologetic, then creating teacups out of thin air just because ... that didn’t happen.

The misgivings didn’t stop him from rising to a shaky stand. While Aziraphale patiently watched, Oscar found a path to the waiting teacup that could be a spa to him. He skirted around papers, a worn pocketbook, and a crumpled receipt to avoid walking on any notes. It seemed like the polite thing to do, and soon enough he’d served himself his first cup of warm tea. It warmed his hands.

“Um. Thank you, A-Aziraphale,” he murmured.

“Absolutely no trouble at all, dear boy,” Aziraphale assured him. Once Oscar backed off from the bigger teacup, Aziraphale claimed it for himself. “I can’t help but think about what you said about never having warm tea before.” He absently held his own giant miracle-tea and shifted in his seat with a creak of the chair. “Is that true?”

Oscar paused in the middle of blowing on his tea. Aziraphale seemed uncomfortable in every inch with what he asked, and Oscar couldn’t fathom why. “W-well, I don’t really … I can’t make my own warm tea,” he explained. “And if anyone else saw me taking from their tea like that, they’d, well …”

“ ‘Lock you up’,” Aziraphale finished for him. His eyes, already gentle in their glances, softened.

Oscar’s mouth twisted into a frown. “Yeah. I have to be careful and quiet so I don’t get seen. I really didn’t _mean_ to drop crumbs and make a mess.”

“Oh, oh, don’t worry,” Aziraphale said all in a rush. “Water under the bridge, I should think. Though, if you must get by on what you can find, does that mean … oh, of course it must. You’ve never had a meal made for you, have you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oscar's innocent little aura has caught Aziraphale's attention, to no one's surprise. This is an innocent little fellow and he shouldn't have to hide away so much, but he's just so wee! Even a somewhat aloof angel like Aziraphale can't help but want to make sure he's fed and protected.


	3. Hiding in Plain Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale seeks some justice after learning a bit more about Oscar. Oscar decides that all of this might as well happen, as the day is already making so many unexpected turns.

Aziraphale hated the realizations as they came to him, but he couldn’t stop from asking. As he watched the miniscule fidgets of Oscar’s hands and the way he wouldn’t look him in the eye, he knew he must be correct. Oscar hardly got any food at all, when so much would be available to him.

That tremulous little voice finally gave him the answer he expected. “Well. Not really,” he said. “I _have_ gotten some toast from someone’s counter, though, when no one was looking. There was butter on it and everything!”

“Oh, good lord,” Aziraphale muttered, hiding his disapproving frown behind a perfunctory sip of his tea.

It would take far too great a miracle than he was capable of to end world hunger (though he had no doubt that these days, the higher ups were looking the other way when he was frivolous). At least he could put some effort into the hunger of _one_ person who needed it.

“Oscar, I’ve had an idea,” he spoke up, only to feel a hint of guilt once again as his voice startled the little fellow. “What say you to some lunch? It’s very nearly time and I was about to head off regardless.”

Oscar stared up at him, eyes wide. He sat so still that he could be another knick knack on the desk, a tiny statue among the clutter. Aziraphale wondered in hindsight if perhaps he’d overlooked the little fellow in the past for this exact reason, but didn’t let it distract him for long. He smiled, a hopeful and inviting expression, while Oscar appeared to mull the question over. Thankfully, Oscar seemed to have accepted the calming effect of the tea, as he took a long sip before replying.

“Oh, um, well, A-Aziraphale, it’s really, um, kind of you to offer, but I … it’s not safe for me to go out. If someone else sees me, I-I could be in real trouble.”

Aziraphale, quick to reassure, shook his head. “Won’t be a problem. That’s a promise. I won’t let anyone spot you and you can simply have a nice time and get your fill of something fresh cooked.” His fingers drummed absently on his mug of tea as he spoke; the excitement for a chance to help fix this poor boy’s situation wouldn’t be held at bay. It was simply what an angel (or anyone, he supposed) should do.

Oscar wasn’t so quick to warm to the idea. He took another drink of his tea; he seemed to like it, at least, which came as a relief. All the while, he avoided Aziraphale’s gaze. Just when Aziraphale worried he might not convince the little fellow of anything after all, Oscar released a tiny little huff of a sigh.

“I-I _guess_ I can try it, if you’re really gonna, um, if you’ll help me hide.”

“Oh of _course,_” Aziraphale all but chirped. “Let me just set aside those books and we can be off. I think you’ll enjoy this spot down the way and around the bend.”

He rose from his seat and, in his excitement, bumped the desk. Oscar clutched his little teacup closer in those tiny little hands, but otherwise didn’t seem too bothered by the motion. Nothing fell on him, sparing Aziraphale the embarrassment _that_ would bring.

As excited as he was to see what Oscar thought of some actual food, Aziraphale didn’t want to leave the newest additions to his collection sitting out on the register counter. _That_ could give someone entirely the wrong idea, and he sincerely hoped no one ever thought they could _buy_ those ones.

He turned away from his desk to retrieve them and gathered them up in no time at all. He set them lovingly on one of his other stacks closer to his back room and, once assured they were all in the same commendable condition their previous owner had kept them in, he turned back to the desk with a grin. “There we are. Shall we?”

Oscar had stood in the interim and his little teacup was tucked out of sight. He seemed to be trying to take up even less space than he already did. He flinched as Aziraphale’s attention landed on him, and Aziraphale tried not to take it personally. The little fellow regarded him with some trust on his face. More than before, at any rate.

“O-okay. I’m ready. I think.”

He was trying so hard, bless him. Aziraphale reached out much more carefully than the first time he’d grabbed the little fellow off the floor. This time, he was pleased to see no panicked glances, no attempts to flail out of the way, though he couldn’t blame Oscar for tensing up. Even if he’d allowed for it, it couldn’t be easy to be gathered up in just _one hand._ Aziraphale tried to be mindful of the faith that had been placed in him.

His curved fingers became a sort of bench for Oscar to lean against as he scooped him off the desk. Oscar clung to his little cloth bag with one hand, but the other braced against Aziraphale’s palm as he rose up, and fascinated the angel all over again. _How_ could he have missed all this time that such tiny people existed?

Oscar didn’t offer much feedback other than a squeak of alarm, a barely audible noise by most non-angelic standards, and the motion was over with before he could muster up more fear. Aziraphale lifted him to about chest level and paused to let the little fellow decide how to settle himself. His tiny movements were little more than a tickle.

“Y-you, um,” Oscar began, his voice reedier than before, “you’re sure no one will see me? How are you going to hide me?”

“Just a small miracle,” Aziraphale said. “I go unnoticed all the time, when it suits me, of course.”

~~~

Oscar had to pause to think about whether he’d heard right. It wasn’t the first time Aziraphale had said it, but even with different context it didn’t make a lot of sense. “Just a small miracle” shouldn’t explain away the sudden appearance of a teacup, nor why Aziraphale could go unnoticed. Oscar began to wonder if he’d get a better explanation if he asked.

He decided not to risk it. “Oh. Th-that’s okay, then, I suppose. It’ll work on me, too?”

“Of course!” Aziraphale’s smile brightened and he seemed much happier with each passing moment. “Now, let’s get a wiggle on before all the best tables are taken!”

Oscar cringed as the man turned on the spot with him in hand. Every motion was bigger and faster than Oscar could manage, and steady as he was, Aziraphale seemed to be in a rush. His enthusiastic gait swayed in the platform Oscar had submitted himself to, and in a few steps he decided quickly to brace a hand against the nearby thumb for stability. It twitched closer to him in response.

Traveling on a hand was going well. And then they reached the door of the shop.

Oscar had been outside before, of course, but like most borrowers, he tended to avoid being out in the open. Even the ones who liked living outside the tall, dark walls of human buildings wouldn’t be able to go for a stroll down the sidewalk. It just wasn’t safe.

The sidewalk of a busy corner in Soho was no exception. Not a second after Aziraphale closed the shop behind him, someone else rounded the corner and sent Oscar’s heart into a frantic flutter in his chest. He flinched back, watching for the human’s gaze to inevitably drift to the way Aziraphale held his hand up, and from there to discover Oscar perching there.

It never happened. Aziraphale waited politely for the human to pass, and not even so much as a nod of acknowledgement passed between the two.

As Aziraphale started on his way, more and more humans passed by without seeing him. They never ran into him, but somehow stepped past without showing they knew why. Oscar’s fear wouldn’t go away, but not a single human looked his way. No one gawked at him, no one pointed, no one tried to snatch him away or knock him from Aziraphale’s hand.

With help from the odd, magical bookshop owner, Oscar was safer out in the open than he’d ever been hiding in the shadows.

He shuddered, but paid a little less mind to his fear. For the first time, he looked around and really took in the details of the street, the cars, the buildings, and the people, all packed in close. The clouds overhead let a few glimpses of blue sky past them. Shop windows did their best to display their offerings through the constantly-moving reflections in the glass.

All of it built up and came from a world where Oscar usually had to hide. He hardly noticed how far he’d let Aziraphale carry him by the time they finally turned towards one of those inviting shop fronts.

A polite bell jingled overhead as they entered. Oscar glanced up, but the threshold was behind them already and he only caught Aziraphale’s friendly nod to someone at the counter. The cozy, closed off feeling of being indoors settled comfortably over Oscar’s shoulders again, though he couldn’t help but notice how humans occupied the tables for the lunch hour.

“Oh!” he squeaked as the hand ferrying him suddenly dropped down. He prepared himself for the tilt just in time to stumble onto the table Aziraphale had chosen. A cheery hanging lamp swayed overhead, washing the tabletop in warm light. Oscar found himself standing next to a saucer with a wide, plain tea mug on it, and not far off some silverware sat on a folded napkin.

He’d never been on such a tidy table before, and certainly not in a _restaurant._ He contemplated a pair of ceramic containers marked “cream” and “sugar” nestled at the side of the table, against the wall. Before he could dart behind them to hide, Aziraphale took the opposite seat and the table quaked gently.

“Here we are,” Aziraphale announced jovially as he settled in. His hands folded politely in his lap and he leaned forward, a keen gaze fixed on Oscar. Oscar tried not to notice the nearest occupied table and the ladies chatting there over coffee and pastries. “Are you alright, Oscar? They _can’t_ tell you’re here at all.”

Oscar took a deep breath and scanned the room once, as quick as he could. Not even a waiter so much as looked their way. The children at a table across the room didn’t zero in on him. Everyone went about their lunch none the wiser despite him standing out in the open. He sighed. Reassurances or not, it didn’t fit what he expected.

“How … um. How can you do that? Th-the, I mean, those ‘miracles’ you said. How do they work?”

Aziraphale smiled again, still such a kind expression. “Ah. I suppose I neglected to really explain, didn’t I? It’s because, well, I’m an angel, here on earth to look after mankind and all.”

Oscar’s gaze snapped right back to Aziraphale. “An _angel?!_” he echoed. “Just like the .... oh. Oh. Like what some humans will pray about, and such?” He couldn’t write off anything Aziraphale told him. After all, he’d already learned the man wasn’t human. _Oscar_ was supposed to be make believe himself, so a being out of mythology wasn’t that different.

Aziraphale chuckled and shook his head ruefully. “More or less, yes, though no one’s praying to _me_ for miracles.”

Oscar took a seat on the edge of the saucer and smiled faintly. “That’s, um. Probably okay. It sounds like it’d be a lot of work.” If making teacups appear from nowhere was a _small_ miracle, Oscar could only imagine what a _big_ one might be. In his experience, humans had a knack for asking for quite a lot, even if they only said it to themselves.

“Oh, I don’t mind helping out here and there,” Aziraphale hedged. “And lately I’ve been taking my own initiative, of course. Sometimes the shop needs more attention … I manage things the best I can, and, well, small miracles to help out are no trouble at all, dear fellow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They've arrived at a place for warm food and Oscar is actually out in the open for the first time in his life! Aziraphale, a foodie at heart, really couldn't just let the little guy keep going not knowing the great options out there.
> 
> To anyone wondering where Crowley is, well, the story isn't over yet!


	4. Arrangements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The angel and borrower get to know each other better over lunch. Aziraphale discovers a golden opportunity, and Oscar meets someone new.

Aziraphale indulged himself in a small sense of pride. Oscar, while still clearly nervous and wary of the cafe’s other patrons, was making an effort to relax. He’d even improvised himself a seat. Next to the other dishes on the table, the little fellow looked especially tiny. It was no wonder, really, that little folk like Oscar weren’t more common knowledge among the humans.

He still would have liked to know himself.

In order to keep from riling those nerves right back up, Aziraphale made certain that the staff of the place--one of his favorite spots for a quick lunch--wouldn’t have the inclination to check up on him. One of the cooks would already be preparing his usual order, and someone would bring it out to him, and the till would have money in it. They would all simply skip over the usual pleasantries, which was alright considering the circumstances.

“Why, um,” Oscar spoke up again, only hesitating an instant when Aziraphale glanced back his way. “Why do you have a bookshop? Y-you could go anywhere, right?”

Aziraphale smiled. Of all the questions Oscar could have asked, the one he picked was oddly charming. “Well, of course I _could_, Oscar, but I _like_ my shop. I like my books and the neighborhood. Oh, I always find myself back in London even when I travel far.”

Oscar nodded and shuffled his cloth-wrapped feet against the tabletop. Someone at another table laughed and he tensed again, but pushed boldly onward into another question, bless him. “So you’ve been lots of places?”

“Oh, I should think so,” Aziraphale replied. “Israel, China once or twice, Edinburgh …” He trailed off as Oscar’s expression became blank for a moment. “All over,” he said instead. “And you’ve piqued my curiosity, dear fellow. Have you traveled before?”

“Oh, well, once!” Oscar admitted, and a shade of pink suddenly colored his little face. “I-I, um. It was sort of sudden, I guess, I mean I hadn’t planned on it until that day, but then I did it, and I hid in, um. Someone’s briefcase. I lived outside the city before, I didn’t really know where they would go … so now I’m in London.”

Aziraphale wouldn’t dare interrupt the somewhat rambled story, not when Oscar seemed so nervous to tell it. For such a quiet little thing, he could have a lot to say, Aziraphale had noticed. He wasn’t always so quick to empathize with others’ experiences, but he couldn’t help it now. From anywhere “outside the city,” Oscar had come a long way indeed. Such a distance to someone so small would be like a trip from Soho to Edinburgh, if Aziraphale felt like making the trip.

“Goodness, you’ve come quite a long way, then, haven’t you?”

The little fellow brightened by a tiny degree, frail little shoulders perking up and everything. Aziraphale wondered what Oscar had _expected_ him to say to such a story.

Before Oscar could answer, his gaze darted past Aziraphale and his eyes widened. Aziraphale followed that startled look and donned some surprise of his own, smiling as the server approached. “Ah! Thank you, miss!”

To her eyes, nothing was out of the ordinary. She left a plate with Aziraphale’s food, filled up his teacup, and drifted away without so much as a glance at Oscar. The poor little fellow had stood and pressed his back against the teacup behind him. His hands pressed against the white ceramic as if he might simply melt into it. His cheeks blushed even pinker than before.

To his credit, Oscar seemed to realize that the apparent danger had overlooked him. He pulled himself away from the teacup, though his little legs moved shakily with each step. Aziraphale half expected him to topple right over, and was very glad when it didn’t happen.

The most polite thing, Aziraphale reckoned, would be to call no attention to the startled reaction. He’d only known the little fellow for a short time, but anyone would have realized by now that Oscar simply startled easily. Considering, well, everything, one could hardly blame him.

“The sandwiches here are quite good,” he said conversationally. “Would you like to help yourself to some? I don’t mind.” Before getting an answer, Aziraphale gingerly picked up one half of the neatly-cut sandwich and held it out halfway between them.

Much to Aziraphale’s quiet, endeared amusement, Oscar hopped down from the tea saucer and took three steps towards the offered food before pausing. As if remembering his manners, the little fellow hid his hands behind his back and met Aziraphale’s gaze. “Um. If you’re _really_ sure, th-then, um. Thank you.” And then, before Aziraphale could finish his acquiescent nod, Oscar pressed forward again. Aziraphale kept perfectly still to avoid startling his small lunch guest, and to his quiet astonishment, Oscar walked right up to him.

When he stepped back again, Oscar held the makings of a miniature version of the sandwich. He also wore a smile on his face, wider than Aziraphale had yet had the fortune to see and full of excitement and gratitude.

That was something they certainly had in common. Food filled Oscar with a very familiar delight. So much so that Aziraphale, quite in tune with the feeling of love, recognized the tiny spark of it in the little fellow for the food gathered in his arms. 

“You’ll like that,” Aziraphale encouraged. “_Much_ better than leftover toast!”

Oscar grinned, and when he answered his voice was much lighter than Aziraphale had heard so far. “I-I never got to try so many different things at once. Usually it’d be too risky to try to get so many things.”

Aziraphale stopped the disapproval from showing on his face, but only barely. If nothing else, at least he was _remedying_ that dreadful situation. “Oh, I can scarcely imagine, dear fellow. Variety is the _spice_ of life.”

~~~

If someone had told Oscar the day before that he would spend the late morning and lunch hour with an angel, he would have told them they were crazy. And yet, there they were, enjoying the food and polite conversation. No one else paid any attention at all, despite how many patrons Oscar noticed coming and going. The way they acted, he might as well have been seated in the chair across from Aziraphale rather than on a tea saucer.

Aziraphale never once disparaged what Oscar told him about his life hidden away in the walls. More than once, Oscar had seen concern flit across that kind face, but there was never a negative word out of him. Any worries Oscar had about the exceedingly cordial Englishman looking down on his humble living were unfounded.

In fact, though the food was gone from their servings, Aziraphale lingered in his seat with more questions.

“And the mice, they listen to you? Just like that?”

Oscar nodded, less sheepish as the conversation went on. “W-well, I help them find better places to, um. If someone _notices_ anything, then we’d _all_ be in trouble, and there’d be traps … so I make sure they don’t make a mess or chew on things.”

Aziraphale absolutely beamed, once again looking almost as if the light in the room came from him and not the cafe’s front windows. His shoulders shrugged in a small motion as if he were settling more comfortably in his seat. “In that case, dear fellow, I dare say you might be the _perfect_ tenant in a bookshop. Don’t you think?”

“Oh,” Oscar gasped, and a smile worked its way onto his face once more. “Y-yes, I guess that’s right, um, if you don’t mind.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “If you’ve been there for as long as you say and I only noticed _today,_ well, you’re better than a few of my _customers._”

Oscar sighed. Throughout the meal, the question had nagged at him. The thought of moving on to a new shop, learning new routines and passages and all, always caused him a lot of worry. “I-I’ll be sure to keep, um, keep taking care of what I can, if you’ll let me. No messes, and no mice chewing on things.”

Aziraphale lifted his teacup and nodded. “I do believe that arrangement would do nicely. And since you’re working so hard, perhaps we’ll even do lunch on occasion. If you’re willing, of course.”

The day kept improving more and more. Oscar stood from his seat on the edge of the tea saucer and nodded, suddenly wondering if his inconsistent luck was finally turning around. “Y-yes please, Mr., I mean Aziraphale.”

“Splendid,” Aziraphale all but chirped. He looked quite proud of himself.

Oscar might have asked about what else he might be able to do in return for Aziraphale’s hospitality, but the bell at the door jingled merrily and pulled his attention away. He glanced past his new angelic benefactor to spot the latest customer in the cafe. It was a tall, sharply-dressed fellow with a casual swish of red hair atop his head. The man didn’t even take off his dark sunglasses to scan the tables.

And then, just when Oscar was ready to dismiss him like he’d done with everyone else, the man looked right at their table.

Oscar had never seen a human sway so much as they walked, but that didn’t distract him from the fear suddenly surging back in his chest. Unlike the waitress who brought the food, this man had no reason that Oscar knew of to see past Aziraphale’s miracle.

“I thought I’d find you here, Angel,” the man greeted as he all but draped himself over the empty chair across from Aziraphale, _still_ without removing his sunglasses. From his relaxed demeanor to his dark clothes, the newcomer was a stark contrast to Aziraphale. “Shame I missed lunch.”

He hadn’t even noticed Oscar standing at the table yet. Oscar stared up at him, stock still, while Aziraphale stammered and collected himself for a greeting. “Ah. Yes. Hello, Crowley. That’s quite alright, I should think, rather. I’ve, ah, kept busy myself, today.”

Crowley smirked, an expression that was gone as soon as it appeared. “Well, you--” he stopped and his face angled down at last. Those dark glasses hid most of his reaction, but that stare hit Oscar like a splash of ice water.

Neither Oscar nor Aziraphale had time to catch Crowley up on their conversation. Crowley reached a hand for Oscar as casually as if he were fetching the salt. Oscar broke out of his frozen trance with a squeak and whirled away. He took one small step towards the sugar container, the nearest hiding place, before a tug at the back of his shirt stopped him.

Crowley hauled Oscar back and up off the table as easily as anyone, only stopping when he had Oscar before his dark glasses. Oscar stared with wide eyes at his twin reflections, both of them with legs curled up and hands tucked close in fear of falling, while Crowley spoke. “Am I seeing right, Angel?”

“_Crowley!_” Aziraphale all but spat, the mortification in his voice tangible in the air. Oscar paused in his fearful squirming to glance across the table. Aziraphale fixed him with an apologetic, uncomfortable expression. “Put him _down!_”

“Oh, like you’d have done any different!” Crowley said, though he did lower Oscar back to the table at Aziraphale’s attempt at a stern look. Even as he let go of Oscar’s shirt, his hand remained nearby like a barrier to ward off any thoughts of running. “Just wanted to take a _look--_”

“That doesn’t mean you throw all manners out the window, Crowley!” Aziraphale insisted. “Oscar here is my _guest._”

Crowley tilted his head and opened his mouth in an exaggerated expression of realization. “Oh, I see, we’re doing lunch guests now, well, let me just remember to bring along a tiny,” he waved his free hand at Oscar in a vague gesture, “whatever next time.”

Oscar wrung his hands. Though most of his wary focus was on Crowley and the hand settled nearby, he shot one glance to Aziraphale. The angel seemed uncomfortable and indignant all at once up against Crowley’s strange attitude. Even though Crowley had interrupted their chat, Oscar couldn’t help but feel that he was the intruder in some way.

“Um,” he squeaked out, flinching when Crowley looked down at him again even though it was his goal. “I’m sorry,” he said weakly. “I’m just Oscar.”

One of Crowley’s eyebrows appeared above the dark glasses as he lifted it, though Oscar couldn’t read intrigue or skepticism there. “Oh? ‘Just’ Oscar, eh? And how many of you are wandering around, all pocket-sized, then?” He nudged at Oscar’s side, not roughly but enough to cause a stumble.

“Crowley, we are _not_ going to interrogate him,” Aziraphale interjected. “And certainly not here!”

“You _cannot_ tell me you don’t want to know, too,” Crowley insisted.

Aziraphale seemed to puff up indignantly. “I should think I have _polite_ ways to get answers!” That said, he tore his gaze away from his friend to address Oscar. “Terribly sorry, dear fellow. We can head back to the shop now, if you like.”

Despite the wild turns the day had already taken, Oscar’s nerves weren’t running as high as he would have expected. He nodded sheepishly. “Um. That’s … probably a good idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, he appears! Crowley sauntered into the story exactly when he felt like it. It also happened to be well after Aziraphale had already decided he rather likes this little fellow's company, so at least one celestial being is on Oscar's side! We'll have to see what Crowley thinks of this.


End file.
